


next to me

by mearcats



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:05:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6563770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mearcats/pseuds/mearcats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Milah's death two months prior left Killian numb, but when his lawsuit to get his mother's ring back from Gold fails, he breaks down. Fortunately, his best friend Emma provides a shoulder for him to lean on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	next to me

**Author's Note:**

> Cynthia gave me the prompt "we’re both in small claims court and i got into a huge fight with the person suing me but you stepped in to hold me back before security got there". And my normally fluffy brain turned it angsty. And this is a whole lot of Millian feels, so if that's not your thing consider yourself warned.

“-ruling in favor of Mr. Gold. Though he and Mrs. Gold were formally separated, their divorce paperwork had not yet been filed. Mr. Jones, we have to dismiss your case.” **  
**

Killian felt bile rising in his throat. That goddamn bastard didn’t even want Milah’s things. He just wanted to screw Killian over – again. The only reason Milah wasn’t his wife was that Gold had dragged his feet with the divorce just to try to keep the two of them apart. She had agreed to marry him the night before she died in the car crash (that Killian suspected Gold was responsible for – too bad there was no way of proving it), and one of the disputed items was his mother’s ring that he’d given her. Then that asshole with those hideous crocodile shoes claimed it was a gift he’d given Milah a few years before.

“Mr. Jones, in recognition of the distress this may cause you and in light of the fact that the items in questions may have been gifts from you, Mr. Gold has been ordered to pay a fee of $1000. Information on how to settle this can be found on the fourth flo-”

Yeah, fuck that, thought Killian. Practically growling with rage, he leapt across the aisle separating him from Robert Gold’s sanctimonious little smirk. “You bloody fucking arsehole! You know that ring was my mother’s. Milah wanted nothing more to do with you, dickhead.” He was ready to throw one hell of a punch when he felt someone behind him restraining his arms.

Oh god, he’d been about to start a fight in a courtroom. He was going to be sued, locked up, the key tossed away…

A husky feminine voice pulled him out of his self-recrimination. “Your honor, I’ve got this under control. I’ll make sure that Mr. Jones doesn’t act up any further.”

There clearly was some sort of higher power looking out for him, because Emma Swan was here. They weren’t likely to second guess a cop, and he hadn’t actually punched Gold. Yet.

Emma’s words once again halted his thoughts. “Mr. Gold, I trust you won’t want to press charges? Jones didn’t actually harm you.”

“Very well, Officer Swan,” Gold waved his hand dismissively, amusement coloring his voice.

Killian allowed Emma to haul him out of the courtroom and drag him into the yellow Bug. He finally had a moment to slow down, and he realized that while Emma was in uniform, she wasn’t wearing her badge. And this wasn’t the police cruiser. “Uh, Swan? Not that I’m not grateful no matter what, but shouldn’t you be wearing your badge if you’re on duty?”

Something like guilt flashed through her expressive green eyes. “Well, I’m not exactly on duty. My shift ended a couple hours ago, but I knew you had this court date. I also knew Gold would try to push your buttons. So I _might_ have worn the uniform under slightly false pretenses.”

He snorted. “Might have? Lass, you’re off the chain. You could get in so much trouble for that. And all for me? I’m touched.” Placing his right hand over his heart melodramatically, he raised his eyebrows at her.

Emma reddened. “Shut up.”

“Oh, a comeback for the ages. Whatever will you think of ne-”

She reached over and swatted his arm. “Shut up, or you won’t get a bearclaw from Granny’s.”

In spite of the absurdity of her shushing him over pastries, he could sense that she was rather more serious than she’d let on. Very well, he wasn’t exactly in the mood for a nice chat either.

—

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into Emma’s driveway. She grabbed their takeout from the diner, and Killian prepared to follow her inside. Instead, she all but pushed him onto the porch swing. He sank down onto the cushion, and at a nod from her he began unpacking the food. “I’m getting us a couple of beers, Jones. Don’t eat all the onion rings.”

When she emerged from inside the house, she’d changed into yoga pants and the oversized Boston University hoodie she’d stolen from him when they were in undergrad together. He took the open Sam Adams she offered him as she plopped down next to him on the swing. They clinked their bottles together and ate silently for a while.

It wasn’t until Emma finished her burger that she broke the silence between them. “So you almost punched a rich lawyer inside of a courthouse today.”

Having finished his own sandwich, he wiped his hands and mouth with one of the napkins. “Fun times.” Killian was horrified when a rather hysterical giggle escaped his lips.

Emma looked at him incredulously for a moment before she started laughing too. Their frantic mirth lasted until Killian found himself sobbing instead. Before he could register the tears on his cheeks, Emma had wrapped her arms around him, murmuring soothingly. He buried his face in her neck, letting himself weep in her embrace. (Later he might be embarrassed, but that was a problem for future him.)

Killian cried until there were no more tears left in him. He hadn’t broken down at the hospital or at the funeral, but the day’s stress, the knowledge that not only was his mother’s ring gone, but so was Milah – oh god, she was gone forever – pushed him over the edge. Emma paid no mind to how wet her shoulder had gotten, simply pulling him closer and rubbing slow circles on his back.

It was almost thirty minutes later before his sobs trailed off. Killian lifted his head and wiped his face with a napkin Emma handed him. “Sorry. I got snot on your shirt.”

“Killian, don’t you dare worry about that. Besides, it’s your shirt.”

“I really should take that back someday,” he grumbled, his voice hoarse and gravelly.

She bumped his shoulder with her own. “Over my dead body. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and I’ve had this bad boy in _my_ closet for almost a decade.”

“I see how it is. Lend a girl a sweater when you’re twenty, and you never see it again.”

“Please, it looks better on me.”

“That it does, love,” he agreed easily. He had eyes, however red and swollen they might be at the moment.

Killian wondered for a brief moment whether things would be different right now had he not had that wonderful first date with Milah the night before she and Walsh had broken up a couple years ago. Their friendship had always been tinged with flirtation, but they hadn’t been single at the same time. When her romance with that simian-faced furniture dealer started tapering off, they’d had a discussion that had given him hope the two of them had a future. She’d asked for a little more time to end things, and he’d agreed.

Then he’d met Milah at that dodgy bar. They’d hit it off, spending hours talking and drinking. She’d confessed that she was in an unhappy marriage, and he told her about his infatuation with Emma. Thinking it would be a brief fling or hook-up that would provide them both with some comfort, they’d gone out the next night. They’d had such a phenomenal time even beyond the physical that neither was ready for it to be a one-time thing. Emma had come bursting into his apartment the next morning to tell him that she and Walsh were over and had found him cooking breakfast in his boxers for Milah, who had only been wearing one of his shirts. It had been awkward, to say the least. He hadn’t seen Emma for a month after that, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever forget the hurt in her eyes. During that month, he and Milah had grown inseparable. She moved out of hers and her husband’s home into an apartment near his, and they’d spent almost every day together.

After that month, Emma came back into his life a bit more cautious and less flirtatious. But they’d made it past the initial discomfort, and she and Milah had grown close, too. Emma had even helped Milah move into his apartment and given her information about getting separated.

“Where are you, Killian?” Emma sounded concerned.

“Sorry, lass. I’m afraid my thoughts wandered.”

She took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers. “I just worry about you, you know?”

He sighed. “Aye, Swan. I-I needed today, catastrophic as it was for the sweater. Today is the first time since Milah died that I’ve felt anything.”

“It’s been a long couple of months.” She seemed to be warring with herself internally. Then she continued, “Can you promise me you won’t go after Gold? Not until we can prove things, anyway.”

Meeting her eyes, he paused a long moment before nodding. “Yes, love. As long as you can promise me we’ll try to find a way.”

“We will, Killian.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and he squeezed her hand.

“He has my mother’s ring, Emma. For no reason other than that he knows it’ll cause me additional pain.”

“I know. And we’ll get him eventually.”

He lifted her hand in his and brushed his lips across it. “Together?”

Emma gave him a small smile, eyes full of something indefinable and wonderful. “Together.”

Killian knew he had a difficult road ahead of him, but with Emma Swan by his side, he felt something he hadn’t in a long while: hope. He smiled back before untangling their fingers and wrapping an arm around her. He kissed her forehead, smiling as he reiterated their earlier promise. “Together.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Jones. We have bearclaws and beers.”

“Aye, we do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not saying I'm posting this separately because I might continue it, but I might continue it.


End file.
